Never After
by Delu
Summary: PostOotP: Harry says he doesn't want to feel the pain of Sirius's death, that he doesn't want to be human anymore if it means pain. But what happens when he meets a certain vampire riddled with emotion? HP/JC Hiatus
1. Escape from England

_[Sirius has died. Harry is with Dumbledore in the Headmaster's office.]_

_"I don't want to talk about how I feel, all right?"_

_"Harry, suffering like this proves you are still a man! This pain is part of being human --"_

_"THEN -- I -- DON'T -- WANT -- TO -- BE -- HUMAN! [...] I DON'T CARE!" Harry yelled at them, snatching up a lunascope and throwing it into the fireplace. "I'VE HAD ENOUGH, I'VE SEEN ENOUGH, I WANT OUT, I WANT IT TO END, I DON'T CARE ANYMORE --"_

-- Page 824, _OotP_

* * *

**Never After  
Chapter One -- Escape from England**

A deep sigh escaped him as he looked out of the train window. Rain was pattering down and he couldn't help but think it a fitting ending to the year that had just passed. Harry took a deep breath as he started to change for Platform 9 and 3/4; muggle clothes, big, baggy and his cousin Dudley's hand-me-downs.

It was only a few days ago that Sirius had died, and the sable haired so-called Savior of the Light was more than just mourning the death of his godfather. Sirius was like a parent to him -- or, at least, a very rambuncious, living-through-you-vicariously-because-they-won't-let-me-out-of-this-hellhole Uncle. Harry gave a sad, mirthless laugh at that.

_Yep, that's Sirius_.

He finished changing and lugged his trunk from the overhead compartment. His two best... well, Granger and Weasley, had been honoured Prefects at the beginning of the year. And while on the ride _to _Hogwarts they'd come back to their usual carriage, this time they had decided to stay with the other Prefects.

A wave of bitterness encompassed him. Ron and Hermione had _decided_ (or declared, as Hermione tended to do) that it was best if they just took a break from each other after the 'incident' at the Ministry. Apparently they thought it was reckless and childish of him to include them on yet another 'adventure' in which they almost died. Again.

Clearly they had forgotten that he wanted them to stay back at the castle; that they had insisted on coming.

"_We will arrive at Platform 9 and 3/4 in five minutes_," a clear, bell-like female voice stated above his head.

_Great, another summer with the Dursley's,_ Harry thought.

He wasn't generally one to indulge in self-pity, but lately he'd been feeling out of sorts. It had started with Sirius and it was coming to a peak at the beginning of summer, the most dreaded time (perhaps other than every June) of his year, where he'd spend two and a half long months with his less-than-kind relatives. He only hoped that the summer was filled with cool wind to keep him from another heat stroke as he deweeded, mowed, or replanted in the backyard.

It seemed like a bleak ray of hope, but he had to hold on to it. There was nothing else for the emerald eyed teen to grasp at and he was getting desperate.

The Hogwarts Express was finally coming to a stop and he crammed into the walkway with the rest of the Hogwarts student body. It only caused another deep sigh to realize he was about as tall as most fourth years, though he was going on sixteen. He finally managed to wriggle his way out and onto the platform, catching a glimpse of a matronly looking woman with fiery red hair.

"Mrs. Weasley," Harry caught her attention with a slight smile. She'd always been good to him, if a little overbearing at times. He was disappointed, but not truly shocked, to see her give a tight smile in return instead of a full set of white teeth and a hug that warmed his soul. She must have heard from Ron. He turned and headed for the gateway between the platform and the muggle world, trying to ignore the ache of abandonment he felt.

A dreamy voice called him back just before he stepped through the wall.

"Harry," Luna said in her breathy way.

"Hello, Luna." He was quite surprised that she was standing there before him, smiling as usual. Shouldn't she be shunning him like the others? Angry at him for risking her and getting his Godfather killed?

"Have a nice summer, Harry," she smiled, a radish earring poking out between her gold locks.

"You too, Luna. And look, I'm really sor --"

"Ask the Blibbering Humdingers if they prefer Dirigible Plums or Aquavirius Maggots." She paused. "I'm thinking it's the Plums."

"Oh, er, sure, Luna. If I run into any, um, Blibbering Humdingers I'll make sure to ask them," he agreed, kind of amused in spite (or maybe because of?) the ridiculousness of his friend.

Friend. Wow, he didn't know how much that was going to relieve him.

"Bye Harry," Luna waved, her trunk rolling after her a lot like a Mary Poppins bag.

"See you, Luna."

He finally managed to exit the platform, uninterrupted. It didn't take long to spot the hulking figure of his Uncle amongst the crowd. The man was like a small, pink whale with a large mustache and easily purpled face. What did surprise the dark haired teen, though, was when he could spot his Aunt Petunia and his cousin Dudley with Vernon. They usually didn't accompany him to "Fetch the Freak" (which, in his mind, was akin to "Harry Hunting" though much less painful), so it was odd that they were there. Especially Dudley, as he took after his father (fat and blond), and hated anything that forced him to move.

Well, other than change the channel, but even then he complained.

"Hurry up, boy," his uncle growled at him. The nod he gave went unseen as his family hurried on ahead of him, anxious to get away from where the other freaks were. It didn't take long to find the car and pop his trunk into it, though it was quite heavy, and give the trolley back to the station. Once that was done, he slid into the company car from Grunnings, Hedwig on his lap, and they took off. He passed the time by looking out the window and petting his owl, trying to ignore the punches Dudley was hitting on his arm, until they could get back to Number 4 Privet Drive. His brows furrowed when, instead of heading off for Surrey, they went deeper into the London Metropolis.

Where were they going? As soon as he saw the airport he had a panicked thought:

_Surely, surely we aren't going to Marge's?_

Marge -- or, Aunt Marge as he was forced to call her (though she wasn't his aunt at all) -- was a terrible woman with many mean dogs, the most notorious being Ripper. She was the same stature as her brother and nephew, even going so far as to have a thinner version of Vernon's mustache, and she often let her dogs bark, bite, and howl Harry up into a tree.

He had hoped not to see her after third year, when in a fit of anger, he turned her into a human balloon. The Ministry of Magic had _obliviated_ her, sure, but he couldn't promise not to do it again.

Just when he was told to grab his trunk and "that ruddy bird" he worked up the courage to ask, exactly, where were they going? Vernon turned that ugly puce colour and his aunt stuck her bony, horse like face into the air at his sheer audacity.

"Not that you should ask such _ridiculous_ questions, boy, but we are headed to the Americas," suddenly, the red vanished and was replaced by a smug satisfaction upon Vernon's face. "_I_ have been recognized by the Head of Grunnings himself and been promoted to Chief Manager of the New Expansion Division to scout out an area that may increase our profits ten-fold." The smugness left his face briefly and Harry was once again faced with a glare that was no match for Snape's or even Voldemort's. "Not that it should mean anything to you, but we'll be gone for the summer and relocated near Seattle, Washington."

He turned to leave Harry staring at his backside blankly. For a moment, the teenager could do nothing but blink owlishly, trying to comprehend exactly what all this meant.

A whole summer outside of England? Away from his frie -- erm, blood wards? But, no, he would be with his aunt, so they would still be in effect. And the Death Eaters would have no idea where he was...

This had the possibility to be a _good thing_.

No one to remind him of his part in Sirius's death, he wouldn't think about his ex-friends because he could make new ones! It was summer, the Dursely's surely couldn't alienate everyone so quickly, right? Without even realizing it, Harry had followed his family into the terminal and he was now sporting the first signs of a small, unforced smile.

As Vernon showed their passports (when had he gotten those?) and they checked their luggage -- well, Harry did; they had already sent theirs ahead to the house Grunnings rented -- the green eyed teen kept going through the _good things_ about this temporary move and his smile kept getting wider. The shadows of the last few days were wearing off and he knew, just _knew_, that Sirius would be glad for him to have this chance. He'd be a new person for two and a half months.

Not Harry-the-Freaky-Criminally-Demented-Nephew.

Not Harry-the-Boy-Who-Didn't-Very-Well-Die.

Not Harry-Golden-Boy-of-Gryffindor.

No, just Harry.

_"Hi, I'm Harry. Harry Potter."_

_"Oh, nice to meet you. What an extraordinarily bland name you have there, Harry..."_

He was practically thrumming with excitement. Why couldn't the Dursley's have told him _sooner_?

- - -

They had left the American terminal after several long hours worth of flights. First it was London to New York, the longest of the flights; then New York to Seattle; a smaller airplane up to a place called Port Angeles and finally the hour drive down to a small town named Forks.

Forks? Really? Well, as strange as it was (though, with Harry's life, one of the more normal things), he wouldn't start complaining.

He did learn, though, that Vernon would primarily be staying in and around the small town of Forks, Was., to get a feel on all the "Community Drilling Needs" and only spending every weekend in Seattle. It was still more than Harry dared to dream.

They were finally driving through what the map proclaimed to be the utensil-deemed town. From what the pale teen could see the entire town was situated on a single highway: indeed, the school was right off the road, as was the grocer, gas station, and police office. It was raining just as it was in England when they'd left, but with his new found appreciation for the move, he didn't see it as a bad sign, just made it that much more like London.

He was ashamed to admit that he was gaping along with Dudley at all the stereotypical American houses that lined the street. They were closer together the further into town they got, but not as crammed as Surrey was. Aunt Petunia was grumbling back at the two teens to quiet down, though it was only her son that was making the loud exclamations; it was a long trip and neither her nor her husband were much in the mood to deal with their son or the freak.

It was a mere five minutes later that they pulled up into the driveway of a nicely sized two-story house. Bigger than Number 4, at least, Harry thought and couldn't wait to see the room he would get. He grabbed Hedwig and put her on top of his trunk as he followed the Dursley's inside. It was a normal house, he thought. There were stairs up, but no cupboard (he thanked Merlin); a spacious kitchen he would more than likely spend most of his time in since from what he could see the backyard was lush but not overgrown. The living room held some came-with-the-house furniture and a t.v. set. It was over all very nice, Harry thought.

"Boy!" Vernon shouted and his nephew jumped, distracted by the house. He was instantly at attention. "Go upstairs and whatever room Dudley doesn't choose you put your rubbish down in. Then get back down here, got it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Go!"

Harry was gone quickly and he lugged his things up the stairs. Dudley was rushing (as much as he could) between the rooms before settling on the one closest to the Master leaving Harry with the one next to the stairs. The dark haired teen pulled his trunk into his new room and just stood stunned for a moment.

It was the size of Dudley's room back in Surrey, with a full bed and duvet set already in place. The walls were plain and there was even a built in shelf. He pulled his things to the end of his bed and poured Hedwig some water before taking a look at the forest outside his window: green, green, more green. He grinned, to him it was a lush, alien world that he would take full advantage of.

"Potter!" His uncle shouted and he cursed as he rushed down the stairs. "Finally! Here," he shoved some strange bills into Harry's hand, "American dollars. Go get us food from that take-out place we passed down the road, and hurry with it you ungrateful brat!"

Harry hurried to do so and stepped out the front door just as his cousin exclaimed, "I want curry!"

As the wizard walked down the road, figuring in his head the American bills couldn't be that different than the pounds he was used to, a car came along side him and the window rolled down. He looked over at the car and it was white with a green stripe on the side, yellow words printed Sheriff. True, it wasn't the blue and yellow check he was used to, but he figured it was much more pleasant to look at.

"Hello, there," the man inside said; he was middle aged with graying black hair and a matching mustache. "Need a lift?"

"Oh, erm, well..." He glanced back at the house that was nearly out of his sight.

"'M not gonna bite ya, kid," the man gruffed out. "I'm the Chief of Police here and I just don't seem to recognize you. Small town like this, that's odd."

"Uh, yes, well, my family just moved you see --"

"Hop in, we can talk on the way."

Harry did as told; he figured that if it were Death Eater's they'd be too proud to imitate a muggle and the car looked official enough, so the man must have actually been a police man. Right? He felt very stupid all of the sudden. Luckily, the man just asked where he was headed and told him he was Charlie Swan, Chief to the good people of Forks.

"I'm Harry. Harry Potter."

"Well then, Harry, that's some accent you've got there."

True, it wasn't the "Oh, what a bland name, Harry Potter!" but he was happy no less. The two of them talked about the Dursley's, Forks, and in general American customs Harry was more than glad to learn. He didn't need to add Harry-That-English-Freak to his list of names. They finally arrived at the place and he didn't recognize exactly what kind of take-out it served.

"Do you suppose they have curry here?" He asked the officer as he unbuckled.

"Currey?" the man asked, confusion in his voice. "Look, kid, I don't think that's a real popular flavor around here. Panda Kitchen just serves Chinese food."

"Oh, well, okay. Thank you."

And then Charlie was gone.

_No curry? How strange._

* * *

**A/N:** This has the possibility to become one of two things: 1) yet another cliche romance between either Harry and Edward or Harry and Jasper or 2) a coming of age story in which Harry learns to cope with growing up in a world filled with war, death, and a humanity that threatens to overwhelm him. At the moment I have no clue which I'd rather write. One the one hand, I'm a hopeless romantic like every other reader of Twilight. But then there's that side that wants to write something a little more meaningful. Either way, I probably won't finish this anyway (just look at every other half written story in my profile if you want proof), but I wanted to get it out there.

I'll be posting a poll on my profile for how the story should end up; I'd really appreciate the feedback in that and reviews which are like crack for authors. So, don't be shy! Read, review, help me plot the end of the world -- I mean story! Yes, story.


	2. Friends or Fiends

_[On the train to Hogwarts]_

_"Is it true? They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, is it?"_

_"Yes."_

_..._

_"You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."_

_"I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks."_

-- Page 109, _SS_

* * *

**Never After  
Chapter Two-- Friends or Fiends**

It took a total of fifty seven minutes for the food to be chosen, cooked, and carried back to the Dursley's new residence. Harry had been forced to use up all the money he was given, as he had purchased at least one of everything on the menu, unsure of what his family would want. He hadn't had the good fortune to be passed by Chief Swan again, so by the time he was back to 287 Maple Street his trainers were straining with the burden of a thousand muddy puddles.

Needless to say, after suffering through flying, jet lag setting in, and walking through the rain in what appeared to be an endless torrent, Harry was exhausted. All he wanted to do was curl up in his new bed, in the new house, in this new, green town. Was that really too much to ask?

Apparently, it was.

_Did I upset a god somewhere?_ He thought as hail the size of knuts rained down.

He had to hurry the last twenty feet to the front door, nearly slipping and catching himself twice in wet grass. Just as he went to open the door after freeing a hand, the frame stuck on the handle and it took him another forty seconds in the hellhole that was outdoors to get it to budge.

"Finally, Potter!" was the greeting he got as he set the food down on the pre-arranged table.

After many a grumble, thwack upside the head, and purpling of the face later, Harry was allowed the small tub of steamed vegetables in some strange liquid. He couldn't remember what it was, but he wasn't complaining; he was allowed the whole thing and it didn't taste too terrible. It was the first time he'd ever been full when around the Dursley's.

After the quick dinner -- in which Dudley and Vernon managed to finish off every other thing Harry had bought -- the dark haired savior cleaned up quickly and dashed up the stairs to his room.

_His room_.

Not Dudley's second bedroom, the Gryffindor boys dorms, the Hospital Wing. His room. It was on that pleasant thought that he drifted off into Morpheus's arms, intent on keeping the rest of his summer as pleasant as this.

- - -

Oh, how wrong his presumptions were.

Forks was becoming more and more like Surrey every day and Harry was starting to detest it. Merely a week after their move to America and already Dudley was turning people against him -- how, even Harry didn't know. The fat oaf was as stupid as a brick, if his reports from Smeltings were anything to go by. At any rate, Big D was creating a new posse from scratch, and from what the dark teen could tell, it was because they were all dazzled by the accent.

Like any shiny, new toy, Dudley was quickly becoming commonplace amongst the families of Newton, Stanley, and Yorkie, as they were in the Dursley household.

The first one, Mike Newton, strangely reminded Harry of a dog. He was energetic, eager to please, and always following his cousin's heels. With the blond hair and round, boyish face, in his mind Harry placed him with a dog collar.

The second, a Jessica Stanley, was far too reminiscent of a mixture between Romilda Vane and Lavender Brown. He supposed every clique had a, erm, _shameless flirt_ such as her, but he couldn't help but be sickened whenever she started hugging all over Dudley. Whom, of course, was becoming even more arrogant and antagonistic than before. To her, the green eyed wizard held slightly more than distaste.

And finally, Eric Yorkie. Black, slicked back hair oddly like a certain ferret he knew, and a very bad case of acne. He, like Mike, was overly helpful; what unnerved Harry, though, was he was just as touchy feely with Dudley as Jessica was. Again, distaste was bitter in the back of his throat; not because Eric appeared to be homosexual (that would be rather hypocritical of him, after all), but that he was interested in _Dudley_ of all people.

Frankly, the thought made him shudder.

It was at that moment, about noon, in the household when "Big D" and his friends decided to come over. As usual, it was raining outside, this time only a light drizzle; and, as usual, Harry was told to stay back and away from Aunt Petunia's "Diddy-dunkins" while he "played" with his new "friends." Harry figured they were more like minions anyway, so he had no trouble keeping away from them, and the only "playing" that would be going on would be video games or with Jessica's far too curly hair.

"Potter!" the hiss came from the kitchen. Harry rushed to answer his aunt.

"Yes?"

"Don't you 'yes' me in that tone!" she all but snarled back at him (but that would be too _plebeian_ for her, so we'll name it "said with a pinched voice"). Knowing that no response was needed -- or wanted -- Harry just stood there. "You're going to the grocer, I need the things on this list, and if there's so much as a penc -- _penny_ out of place, Vernon will have your hide. Got it?"

It wasn't really a question, so Harry simply took the list and notes that she gave him.

The walk to the store was much shorter than the one in England, but as it was raining perpetually, Harry was drenched by the time he entered. As he got under the awning of the building, he shook his messy, damp hair out of his eyes.

"Hey!" a voice protested, and he looked up, startled.

It was a girl, about his age, with dark hair and glasses. She had a few bags in her hands and was sprinkled with little droplets of water, thanks to him.

"I'm so sorry!" He apologized, going forward. He was about to take off the far too-over sized jacket and use it to clean up the mess he'd made, when he realized it was just as soaked as the rest of him. "I'd help but, uh.. yeah," he finished lamely.

"Oh, it's all right," she protested briefly, shaking her head. "By the looks of it, I'm about to get a lot wetter anyway," she finished with an eye roll and a small smile.

"Yes, but still, I should have looked where I was flinging my hair at," was his chuckled reply. Her brows furrowed at him.

"I'm Angela Webber," she introduced. "I'd shake your hand but... yeah." Another laugh.

"I'm Potter, Harry Potter."

"Is that sorta like James Bond?" She grinned wryly at him.

"Who?" he asked, confused.

She looked surprised. "You know, like the movie? _'Hello, I'm Bond; James Bond.'_"

"Sorry, not ringing any bells up here," he tapped his head with a shake.

"Well, I'll just have to introduce you then, won't I? Here," she set down her bags on one of the few dry benches and pulled a pen out of her purse. "This is my house number, call me when you're interested in finding out about the best spy of all time. At least, I think he is," she paused, then shrugged. "Ben says he is, at any rate."

"Erm, Ben?"

"Oh!" she blushed. "Yeah, that's my boyfriend; he's a big 007 aficionado. And you probably have no clue what that means..." she rolled her eyes at herself.

"All right then," he smiled at her, grateful for her easy offer of friendship. "I'll give you a call sometime."

They parted after that, with brief goodbyes and movie marathon promises. A warm feeling engulfed his heart; a new friend in a new place, where people wouldn't associate him with Savior of the World, but with a fictional character.

_Fictional_, he thought, _maybe I should tell her I'm a wizard. She'd get a kick out of that, I'm sure._

A voice popped up in his head, chastising him about his easy conversation. _She could have been a Death Eater in disguise!_ It said, sounding annoying like Hermione. He pushed it away, the thought both irrational and irritating.

The market was easy enough to figure out, but some of the things on his list weren't carried in the store, so he finished up quicker than expected. The cashier gave him an odd look, probably because he was new to this small town where everyone knew everyone else. He was just pleased that his eyes didn't drift up to his messy hairline. It was yet another nice change of pace.

Maybe he'd just stay in America, just keep away from all the bad things in his life and try to be happy for once. He tried to push the thought from his head -- it was a ridiculous notion, after all -- but only managed to bury it in the back of his thoughts, not quite gone.

- - -

Harry took a deep breath in; it had stopped raining for the first time since they'd arrived, and he was taking advantage of it. Oh, and because Petunia yelled at him to "Get out!" as some neighbors came over for a meet-and-greet. He was happy enough to oblige, hoping to take a look around the forest that connected just about everything in Forks together.

His stroll took him to the deeper parts of the wood, possibly North on the outskirts of the Olympic Peninsula. He had his wand on him, just in case anything tried to get at him. But, he figured, if he could take on a Cerberus, Acromantula nest, Basilisk, Hippogriff, Sphinx, and Dementors, he'd be fine with bears, too. At least, he hoped that was the case; but nevertheless, he was a Gryffindor and they were a brave lot.

As he walked, he had to scurry his way up a slight hill, using the tree roots to climb. What he came upon was a slightly less dense grove of trees with a large boulder on the outskirts. He gave a small, pink-lipped smile at the simple beauty of the area, leaves shimmering like diamonds with rain drops. He stood there for a minute, breathing in the musk of the forest, content.

_Snap._

It was a dull sound, barely a twig being broken, but it was close. And after years of experience with the unfortunate, Harry kept still, trying to locate the direction the noise came from. He snapped his head to the left, trying to discern what creature lay in the shadows, stalking him as prey. His instincts told him to be still, to crouch, to gently coax his wand into his hand. He did all this, trying to be as unmoving as possible as his emerald eyes searched.

Suddenly -- or, rather, deliberately slowly -- two human-shaped beings came from behind one of the giant trees of the forest. Harry tucked his wand up his sleeve, but kept it close enough to draw if need be. For one thing, even humans were vicious animals when they wanted to be, he'd seen enough to know that. For another, both of these "people" were _inhumanly_ beautiful. There features were precise, sharp, and covered with snowy skin; and their eyes... their eyes glowed a brilliant amber-gold with deep purple circles beneath them, as if they hadn't gotten a wink of sleep for a very long time.

Thanks to Remus and Hermione, he knew exactly _what_ they were. He also knew if they stepped into that ray of sun three metres to there left they would start sparkling, and it wouldn't be because of the rain.

"We didn't mean to startle you, and we apologize for doing so," said the younger one, the one with the bronze, messy hair.

"Yes, we are sorry," said the other to him, hair blond and perfectly in place.

It took Harry a moment to recognize and process what they were saying to him, his mind having gone blank. He was bewildered by their affect on him. "Oh, no, that's fine," he waved it off, "I probably overreacted anyway."

Which was a lie, and they more than likely knew that already. His posture was stiff, eyes alert to their forms, trying very hard _not_ to be fooled by their flawless appearances. The only reason he had yet to attack (or act at all, really) was because of their eyes; he wasn't sure why they were that color or if he'd simply mistaken two rather handsome men for dangerous magical creatures.

"No, no, I'd say you under reacted," the bronze one said with a small, dazzling grin that showed perfect white teeth. Venomous. "Most would run if they were startled as such in the wild. Not grab a twig," another grin, and Harry almost forgot to breath.

"Well, I figured if it were a wolf it'd out run me, so why not play fetch?" the sable haired teen replied, a minute smile of his own, though surely not as brilliant. "I'm Harry, by the way," he offered.

"I am Edward, and the silent one is my brother, Jasper," Edward gestured to the blond and Harry saw that he had yet to take a breath in his presence. Jasper looked pained and Harry felt a wave of guilt; it was obvious they weren't going to hurt him (unless they liked to play with their food) and that the smell of his blood was bothersome. He saw the inhuman beauty crinkle his brow ever so slightly and figured that it was time to get out of there.

He didn't want to push their limits after all.

Just as he was about to make an excuse to leave, Jasper spoke. "Are you new to the area?" he asked. "I would think your sc-- speech would be recognizable." The slip was hissed slightly, and untrained ears might not have heard it.

"Yes, I am. Just moved here with my Uncle and his family for a new job; we'll only supposed to stay for the summer."

"Oh," was the only reply he got, a simultaneous onomatopoeia between the brothers. He was confused by it, but made a note to go over it later; you know, once he was out of immediate danger. Good situations liked to go sour around him.

"Um, listen, I have to head back for dinner," _Gotta make it and all that_. "I guess I'll see you later," he waved, "it was nice meeting you." And, surprisingly, he didn't feel as tense as he should have been. Vampires were known to have a natural aura about them to ward off their prey, as all large animals had. But, Harry supposed, he'd always been attracted to danger.

- - -

It was much later that night, after he'd finished the dishes and gone to bed, that he allowed himself to think upon his strange day.

He'd made a tentative new friend -- possibly two, if he included Angela's boyfriend Ben -- at the store. She seemed amiable and a bit like Neville, a little awkward but a good person.

He'd also managed to find something that could kill him in this dinky little town. It was just his luck that there happened to be a few vampires, perhaps even a coven, nearby and he ran into them. He could swear that Voldemort had put more than just a killing curse on him with all the trouble that found him. But -- but, well, they didn't seem like the monsters they'd always been made out to be.

_Which is just how the Ministry portrayed werewolves, too, Harry_, he reminded himself. Dangerous, killing, blood-sucking animals, that's what they were always called. Even Remus, his werewolf mentor and the kindest man he'd ever met, had a distaste for them. Though, Remmy did mention once it was because of an ancient rivalry between the two races.

The dark haired teen sighed and took off his glasses, rubbing the scar on his forehead frantically. All the events, and his thoughts, were catching up to him. It wasn't helping that Voldemort was feeling particularly vindictive since the Department of Mysteries debacle and kept sending Harry wave after wave of headache. He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself for sleep; the Occlumency lessons had taught him to clear his mind, if nothing else, and he put them to good use.

It was with one last thought on two gorgeously sculpted beings that he fell asleep, having dreams of red eyes, glistening teeth, and distant howls.


	3. Gamin is Gone

_"I don't care what kind of blood you've got!" said Harry fiercely. "Why would I want to attack Muggle-borns?"_

_"I've heard you hate those Muggles you live with," said Ernie swiftly._

_"It's not possible to live with the Dursley's and not hate them. I'd like to see you try."_

-- Page 200, _CoS_

* * *

**Never After  
****Chapter Three -- Gamin is Gone**

"Well, Gred?"

"Well, Forge?"

"I think it's time to open it up!" The two red-heads shouted simultaneously, arms wrapped around each others shoulders.

The two grinning teens were standing in a rather... vibrant store front at the edge of Diagon Alley. It was brimming with a cacophony of noises, _dings!_ and trumpeting overriding the soft whispers of the pink Pygmy Puffs in the corner. Dazzling amusements and jokes were on every shelf, from love potions to canary creams, but the best of their stock was in the back. The twins were proud, standing and admiring the space they'd longed for since they invented the many, many, _many_ pranks that drove their mother insane.

"It's beautiful," George said, wiping away a nonexistent tear.

"Marvelous, indeed, dear brother," Fred agreed, nodding.

_Tap. Tap. Tap_.

The two turned in unison to the window. A familiar gray owl flapped outside the glass, an almost indignant look on its elegant face. The twin on the left, perhaps Fred, let the poor bird in, hazel eyes reflecting the confusion his brother showed.

"Brunhilda? You were supposed to deliver this to Harry," George said, untying the package from the Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes delivery owl. It was her first flight to a customer -- well, beneficiary -- so maybe she wasn't the bird they thought she was?

A sharp nip on his ear told him she knew what he was thinking and was affronted by the unspoken accusation.

"All right, all right, cut it out," he spoke to the bird, offering her water.

"Huh, there aren't any curses on it," Fred said.

"Weird."

"Yeah."

The two were quiet a while, pondering together and making signals of ideas only a twin would understand. Their eyes lit up after a moment, only to dull with worry.

"You don't suppose --"

"Maybe."

"Brunhilda, darling," George purred out at the bird. She blink large golden eyes, unaffected by the flattery. "Could you not find Harry?" She flapped her wings at him and shrieked.

"Or," his twin started hoping to keep peace with the touchy avian, "was he, perhaps, not where he should have been?"

At this, she stopped screeching and dolefully hooted.

"Oh, dear."

- - -

"What do you mean, he's gone?!" a strict looking woman shouted at the fireplace.

Three figures were standing in the office of Headmaster Dumbledore, all quite confused at the Floo they received from the Weasley twins. The dark silhouette of Severus Snape was in the corner, making snide comments on the elderly and their hearing impairments.

"We didn't say he was 'gone,' per sa..."

"Just that Brunei couldn't find him."

"Simple misunderstanding, really."

"You should learn to listen a bit better, Minnie dear."

The salt and pepper haired woman was so flustered that she stood, mouth agape and staring, blush rising in her cheeks from embarrassment (or, more likely, anger). "Albus!" she screamed and the white haired Headmaster stroked his beard in thought.

"You say it was your bird that couldn't find him?" the aged wizard asked thoughtfully.

"Yessir, Headmaster," the Twins said in tandem.

"Have you checked for curses, hexes, jinxes?" he questioned.

"And potions, charms, and even transfiguration, sir," George said.

"We put a tracing charm on her and it led to Number 4, Privet Drive, Surrey, put she just turned around," finished Fred.

"You don't think, Albus, the wards...?" Professor McGonagall asked.

"No, no; the wards wouldn't repel any birds..." the wizened man murmured, twinkling blue eyes dull in thought. Fawkes, the fiery phoenix, trilled in a low note before bursting into flames. "Ah, Burning Day again."

"What was that?" the witch asked, curious despite the situation.

"Burning Day, Minerva, the day that a Phoenix rejuvenates upon," he said, contemplating the ashes that were forming his familiar chic. "There is no set schedule for a burning, but in the last sixteen years it has only happened three times." He paused. "The first was on Halloween night, 1981," Minerva gasped and Severus hissed between his teeth. It was not a pleasant day in history for either of them. "The second was when young Harry was accused for a second time of opening the Chamber of Secrets," at this his two employees exchanged glances. "And this will mark the last of the three."

"Do you suppose, then, Headmaster, that _Potter_ has some connection to this avian's ritual?" asked Severus, spitting out the boy's name and arching a brow. It seemed almost ridiculous.

"Yes, Severus, I do indeed," responded Dumbledore, eyes still affixed upon the ashes. He turned back to the fireplace, "We are most thankful for the information, m'boys," he told the Weasleys.

"Sir, is Harry --"

"-- all right?"

"I do not know as of now," replied the Headmaster. The two nodded, recognizing a dismissal. The white haired wizard turned back to the people in his office. "Severus, Minerva, I must ask you to visit Number 4 this afternoon. I fear that there may be a great wrong occurring," his voice was grave and the two merely nodded and swept from the room.

- - -

_Pop!_

_Pop!_

The two sharp sounds echoed on the street of Magnolia Crescent, sending birds to the sky in fright. The two magical persons marched swiftly toward the sign indicating _Privet Drive_.

"If the boy is not there, we shall visit Miss Figg," McGonagall said authoritatively in her professor voice.

"No matter the birds death, Minerva," replied Severus in his deep baritone, "the brat is probably out at some frivolous thing and the fuss is over nothing." He paused his speech and smirked in a decidedly evil way. "That is unless he's found yet another thing to endanger himself with."

"Oh, Severus, he isn't that bad," the witch reprimanded. "I'll admit he's more... magnetic to trouble than most, and decidedly foolish sometimes --" He snorted and she glared. "_But_," she continued in her brogue, "he is a good boy, no matter your skewed perspective."

"He is insufferable!" the dark wizard hissed.

"He is but a boy!" she argued back, counting the house numbers. _8... 6..._

"Idiotic and disrespectful," spat the spy. "It's no wonder he got that mutt killed..." Minerva glared at him ferociously, intent on snapping right back at him that it wasn't Harry's fault, but they had reached Number 4.

Only to find it empty.

The two inspected the property, the ever so slightly unkempt lawn and letter box with too much mail. The empty interior of the house, the lack of perishable food, and the strange metal bars on the smallest bedroom's window.

"Probably to keep him from doing something stupid," Severus said, but he recognized a cage when he saw it. There was something foul in Surrey and they both felt it.

"I think it's time to call on Miss Figg," Minerva whispered, struck by the notion that not all was as it should be within the Dursley household.

"Indeed," was the only reply.

They set off toward the house down the street, intent on finding answers. It took less time to reach their destination this time, their furious steps speeding them up until they were upon the doorstep of the squib, Arabella Figg.

"Minerva, Severus?" The old woman asked in confusion. Her eyes widened as she took them in, one face red with fury and the other contemplative and wearisome. "Get in, get in," she shooed, glancing about the street. Her neighbors didn't take well to the abnormal so it was best to keep the wool over their eyes. "Tea?" she asked.

"Cut the pleasantries, woman," Severus snipped at her. "What do you know about Harry Potter and the Dursleys?" She bit her tongue against a vicious censure toward the latter name. "Well?"

"They are what most would call _normal_ amongst muggles," she started. "Routine, seemingly caring for all their members..."

"And what of Harry, Bella?" Minerva asked, wringing her hands.

The gray haired woman sighed deeply. "They, well they are truly the most abhorrent people I have ever laid eyes upon," she said truthfully. "I've told Albus time and again that I think they don't treat Harry right, but he just says, 'They're family, they're what's best.'" She exhaled another sigh. "I haven't been about him in a few years, either, since they don't need a babysitter so much anymore; only time I get to see him is when they go out somewhere and leave him with me."

"What do you mean, when they go out?" Severus asked sharply.

"Like, to dinner or a film. Sometimes when they have guests over, too," she nodded. Another of the any glances was shared between the professors. "What is it?"

"Have you seen Harry as of late?" he asked.

"Well, no, actually," she frowned. "Which is odd. Usually when he comes back after schooling he's out in the yard all the time. 'Chores,' he says. They make him do all the bloody chores! That fat loaf of a son doesn't do a damn, either," her head shook.

"So you haven't seen him _at all_," stressed Minerva.

"No, no, not since last summer. Stays all year at Hogwarts and whatnot. Why?" she asked, a frost forming in her stomach.

"The Dursley premises," started the animagi witch, "appears to have been abandoned for a number of days."

"And," added Severus in a dark tone, "there appear to be bars on the window of the smallest bedroom. Any clue as to why?"

Bella blinked at them and furrowed her brows. "Not that I know, the window faces away from my house..." her eyes widened. "What have they been doing to that poor boy?" she gasped, hand covering her mouth and eyes strangely wet.

_What have they been doing, indeed_, thought Severus; he couldn't help but think of the parallels between the b-- _Potter's _past and his own. It gave him a small shudder of guilt to realize just how much he might have misjudged the teen.

* * *

**A/N:** First, a gamin is a street-boy, generally an orphan. I've heard Harry called a street urchin, ragamuffin, etc. so many times that I think a gamin is quite the fit for him. Second: the story stats have upped DRASTICALLY which let's me know that there are many a reader of this fic. You don't know how happy that makes me! It's ridiculous how much joy I feel right now. Honest. A big THANKYOU goes to all those who added me, the story, or an alert. And another to all those who REVIEWED. Again, I'm ridiculously ecstatic.

I'd also like to inform everyone (though this will surely disappoint a few) that this will now be a HP/JH fiction! I was leaning toward that in the beginning, but now I'm absolutely sure of it. 50 percent of the voters on my poll said they wanted Harry and Jazz and how could I disappoint that, eh? At any rate, I hope you all keep reading, H/E fans or no. I have high hopes to make this a story you'll want to read again and again.


	4. Hiding in Heat

_[Myrtle to Harry]_

_"You're alive."_

_"There's no need to sound so disappointed."_

_"Oh, well ... I'd just been thinking ... if you had died, you'd have been welcome to share my toilet."_

-- Page 326-6, _Cos_

* * *

**Never After  
Chapter Four – Hiding in Heat**

He awoke with a grimace of pain. His dark hair was matted across his forehead and the nape of his neck, sticky with sweat. With a loud groan, he forced his numb arms to support his minimal weight, and crawled to the bed in the corner. As Harry plunked down on the soft surface, he was thankful for the prearranged sheets and comforter that hugged him softly.

Yesterday... well, yesterday hadn't been one of the best days he'd ever had (what little he could remember of it). The morning was typical for the Dursley household, whether they be in merry old England or the US of A: the dark teen woke at an ungodly hour, took a quick shower, prepared an enormous breakfast, was cuffed a few times for good measure by his uncle, and then proceeded to do the million or so chores set out for him.

In addition to all that, he got a few whacks from Vernon for being a "disobedient, useless freak." He didn't believe such nonsense, of course; the eldest Dursley was more than likely compensating for the lack of business in the area, but still. Harry was getting pretty sick and tired of it. As many things in his life, he blamed Voldemort.

The death of his parents was surely the most obvious of those blames, to be sure, but for every subsequent misgiving in his life, the root would undoubtedly be the Dark Lord. After all, if Harry hadn't been tossed in with the Dursley's, he'd never have been told of his freakishness and how worthless he was, nor would he receive regular "punishments." And if he hadn't been cursed then he wouldn't have the connection with Voldemort that crept up on him in nightmares and visions. Perhaps even Sirius would be alive –

Shuddering in both physical and emotional pain, Harry exited his bedroom and took as fast a shower as he dared. It was difficult to maneuver the bruised appendages, and even more so with the skull cracking headache that was throbbing away (courtesy of Voldemort and the wall Dudley had pushed him into yesterday). As he entered the dark kitchen, he glanced at the clock: 4.17 am, it read in bright red numbers. Taking a deep breath, he loaded the heavy skillet from a cupboard, grimacing only slightly.

- - -

The Boy-Who-Lived was confused.

Well, really, befuddled would be a more apt word. He was sitting upon a large stone in a grove – the grove he'd gone to just a few days ago, actually – and wondering just what to do. That was the whole reason he was out there, if he admitted it to himself. As the lake at Hogwarts had always done, the boulder and trees did for him in Forks. He felt calm, relaxed, and at the same time hyped up on nerves. He had gone there to think, but all it was doing was making him wish for a few pills of ibuprofen.

His thoughts had originally drifted from calm and the lake, to Hogwarts, to happiness, to friends, to Hermione and Ron. If it could be pinpointed, he'd say that was when his thoughts started to race a bit faster. How could they do that? He would ask himself, only to respond it would be perfectly natural of them. Who _wants_ to put their life in danger -- and that's all he was, a danger.

_Dangerous, freaky, worthless..._ his mind hissed from a dark corner. He tried to shake it off.

How many things had gone wrong since he'd entered the Wizarding World, again? Well, there was the troll and the stone in first year; the Chamber and Riddle in second; he'd knocked out Snape and nearly gotten himself bitten by a werewolf when he was thirteen; the Tournament and graveyard came next; and finally the Department of Mysteries and Sirius, which was the worst of them yet, to Harry. He'd always known Voldemort would return, it had only been a matter of time; he'd felt the danger since Hagrid had told him the story and just _knew_ it would happen one day, like foreshadowing or something. But Sirius? That had caught him off guard, had torn a piece of him out and burned it to a crisp. It was painful to an extreme no curse could ever replicate.

So, yeah, he could see where his -- _Granger_ and _Weasley_ were coming from, but it didn't mean he had to like it. Luna stayed, after all; Luna was his friend through the entire ordeal, had heard the voices beyond the veil, and had given him hope when he needed it. But then Luna was called Loopy Lovegood for a reason, so her sense of self-preservation probably wasn't the most reliable. Malfoy had been right, people did die around him.

Rubbing at his eyes, he groaned. Why couldn't he just _stop thinking about it_?

"Hello, there," a deep voice came from his left.

Harry snapped his head around – he hadn't heard a single sound. Though, come to think of it, the music that the forest made had quieted and the still silence engulfed the grove. The sable haired youth looked at the trespasser with wide green eyes. The man was dark of skin and had a feral look about him, though he held his beautifully sculpted form with an animalistic grace. But what disconcerted the wizard the most were his eyes: wine-colored and glassy. They reminded him far too much of the Dark Lord's eyes for his comfort – even the bloodlust that blew out the pupils was similar.

Harry was certain of a few things at that point: the first was that the man before him was a vampire – and a feral, starving one at that. The second was that his holly companion of nearly five years was tucked safely inside his trouser pockets. The last thing he knew was a vampire could cross a distance of 250 metres in a single second, far too fast for the teen to even think about extracting his wand.

A shallow ball of dread rolled about his stomach angrily.

Harry had the sudden realization that he would die that day – and not by the hand of Voldemort – and it froze him in place.

"How curious," the predator said with a slight smile on his face. Harry felt a sense of déjà vu.

"Curious?" he asked, remembering from his past experiences with Voldemort that it was better to keep the opponent talking. He found that ranting was a good distraction and he tried to use it to save himself. _If only I could get my wand…_ he thought, trying to inconspicuously shift his wand from his pocket.

"Yes," the vampire purred, "how curious such a wizard as you is so far from home."

"You – you know who I am?" Harry asked, surprised and faltering, his eyes growing exponentially wider. The shock must have been far too evident on his face as his maker let out a breathy laugh.

"Oh, of course, but what self-respecting wizard would I have been if I didn't know who Harry Potter was?" he quirked one black brow at the teen sardonically. The savior in question tried to stifle his gasp, but the vampire's astute hearing caught the intake of breath. "And that blood, so fragrant…" his eyes shut half-way as if he smelt a perfumed flower. Then, his eyes opened and within a heart-beat the arrogant smirk turned into a ferocious grin. Deadly white teeth flashed and Harry could see the lethal venom that coated them. "This," the vampire said, "will be most satisfying."

Harry stuck his hand inside his pocket, desperately grabbing for his wand, but he couldn't get there in time. As his fingers hit the handle of the phoenix-cored instrument, he felt razors pierce his neck and hands made of marble grip his head tight, jerking it to expose more of the delicate flesh that covered his jugular. The grip on his wand went slack as he desperately tried to pry the beast off with his free hand. At that moment, as he grappled with the unyielding muscle, the burning started.

"No – no, please!" Harry gasped, voice throaty from pain. The burning – it was too much for him to bear; the cruciatus curse was no comparison to this. For a split second, he begged for death. A moment later, as the fire inside his veins reached his fingertips and spread further, he pleaded for the cold release. Anything would be better than the flames he was feeling – _anything_.

He wasn't aware of the time that he started screaming, didn't comprehend that he was tossed to the ground mere seconds after begging for the vampire to stop. His mind vaguely registered the fact that he was no longer being held in a death grip, for he was all too consumed with the fire that burnt at his core. It was stretching further, the inferno, and he could feel it at his heart.

Harry tossed his head back, muscles straining against the agony of war inside his body; he needed to be cool, just a single piece of ice would calm the heat, but he had no savior. The sable haired hero was dying, being engulfed by the heat, and there was nothing that could be done.

* * *

**A/N: **All right, so not quite as long as the others, but I do have something for that:I've set up the timeline for the story: it's officially decided that this story takes place **after the end of New Moon**. I would have made it between New Moon and Eclipse (which I might still do, just pushing Eclipse back a bit) but Eclipse actually starts at the end of April, and we all know that Hogwarts doesn't let out until the second week of June (I still believe that Volds isn't really trying to kill Harry – just end the year with a bash). That way it's summer and Bella and Edward have righted their tiffiness. I am changing a bit from New Moon to fit the story, though: the wolves never killed Laurent, just chased him off (oh, yeah, and he's a wizard). Moving things along quickly – figured it'd be better this way. (Please, please don't kill me -- please). I just figured if I vamp'd Harry early there'd be none of that awkward Vamp/Human stuff that went on between Eddie and Bells to get in the way. I think I'll also be adding the Wizarding World in as a large factor of the story, too. We all know that trouble finds Harry -- I think it'll be the same in America as it is in England. Well, Review, please! I love all my reviewers and all my readers, too. A lot of you just put me on Alert and that's just as joy-inducing as a review is. Enjoy.


	5. Irrationality, the Instigation

_[Snape to Harry]_

"_I told you to empty yourself of emotion!"_

"Yeah? Well, I'm finding that hard at the moment."

"Then you will find yourself easy prey for the Dark Lord! Fools who wear their hearts proudly on their sleeves, who cannot control their emotions, who wallow in sad memories and allow themselves to be provoked this easily -- weak people, in other words -- they stand no chance against his powers! He will penetrate your mind with absurd ease, Potter!

– Page 591, _OotP_

* * *

**Never After  
Chapter Five – Irrationality, the Instigation**

"There's something off about him."

"Yes, there is."

- - -

It was two days after their chance encounter with the new stranger, and it was the first time that the family had been all together in three. Jasper and Edward had informed the others as soon as they had returned from their hunting trip. The two had finished early because Edward was anxious to see his little human mate, Bella. Between the end of their trip and the meeting with the girl, they were distracted, though, by a very strange encounter.

"Alice?" Esme sent a worried look at her good-as daughter.

"Hmmph," the pixie-like figure responded, small, pale hands rubbing her temples with her eyes screwed shut. She would make little sounds of discontent, but hadn't said a word for the past five minutes – a feat for the slight vampire.

"Again, Edward," Carlisle commanded softly at his 'oldest.'

"We met him in a copse," the bronze male began.

"And he – he _smelled_," Jasper added quietly, almost as if to himself. A minute frown marred his perfect face; it was more defined than most vampiric facial expressions.

"Bad?" Carlisle questioned, finding the wording strange. There were hardly any that smelled foul to a vampire, the blood's natural perfume overriding any bodily odor.

"No, I wouldn't say 'bad,' per se," Edward shook his head.

"It was very… different," Jasper frowned again. He huffed in frustration, matching Alice's own face. "That's not right, either, though," he agreed with Edward, voice taking on even more of his inherit southern accent.

"'Different' how?" Emmett asked as he sat on the love seat with Rosalie, one beefy arm thrown around her shoulders as she scowled lightly. Jasper was frowning out the back wall of windows, facing toward the row of trees, eyes golden and far off. Edward, on the other hand, was straddling his piano bench, long, talented fingers occasionally fiddling with a bottle cap as he contemplated the scenario. Alice was a flurry of fingers still as she perched on the ottoman near Jasper. Carlisle and Esme were the pinnacle of the family, planted in the center, the only true calm ones in the mass of their made-family. "Different like, uh, _different_, eh?" He guffawed.

"Stop being an idiot, Emmett," Rose sneered, though her eyes weren't as hard as would be expected from the cold vampire.

"Hm, maybe, he was very small –"

"Edward!"

"—but that's not what we meant," he finished before Esme could scold him again.

"So, when he realized you were there, what did he do?" prompted Carlisle gently.

"He grabbed at a stick in his pocket – and for some reason, he felt guilty for a second, though I don't know why," Jasper stated. "It was odd, but, well, it's almost as if…" he sighed and ran a hand roughly through his hair, "almost as if it were a defense, grabbing that twig." He glanced up at his 'father' with molten gold eyes. "What do you make of it, Carlisle?"

"It seems familiar, almost, doesn't it?" the doctor agreed to the unspoken thought.

"What do you mean, like humans throwing sticks at each other like baboons?" Rosalie sniffed out, her obvious distaste apparent.

"No, more like we've seen it before, Rose; Jasper, do you remember where you've seen this at before now?"

"I- I think it was during the war," the blond admitted quietly. "A few of the recruits had items like this Harry had: whittled, smoothed wood." His eyes widened fractionally. "And now that I think about it, their scent was slightly strange as well; I never really thought anything of it." His brows furrowed and he glanced toward Alice. "How is it, Alice?"

"Ugh!" She shouted, eyes snapping open, and she hopped to her feet quickly. It took less than an eight of a second. "I can't get anything off him! Not a single damned thing!" she ranted.

"Woah, the girl's got some spunk!" Emmett rumbled.

"Shut up, Emmett," Edward, Jasper, and Rosalie all said at once. Alice started to pace around the front room, somehow angry in her dancing walk. The chocolate haired Esme calmly walked from her husband to put her hands gently on her daughter's slight shoulders.

"I don't like this at all," the black haired vampire stated before pursing her lips. "I need to see him; maybe that's why I can't…"

"No," the strategist stated firmly. "If you can't see him then it's too dangerous to get so close."

"I agree," Carlisle added. "I know it's frustrating, but we will figure this out as a family. Now, tell us exactly what happened, again."

Edward took a deep breath filled with annoyance. "We met him in a copse –"

Alice gasped and the room quieted instantaneously. Her eyes were wide and unseeing to the world around her, her mouth moved but nothing came out, and her hands would clench tightly before flexing. "No, no, no, no, no…"

"Alice, c'mon, Ali girl," Jasper coaxed, putting his hands on either side of her head and bending down to look in her face. "What? What is it?"

"I-it's changing, so fast, so many possibilities," she said quickly, almost a snap. Her breathing, while unnecessary, would come quicker than before. "He's sleeping – no, thinking, in the grove – no, no, he's dying!" she gasped, her lip quivered, "he's dying, and changing – a vampire!"

The room became a flurry of voices, quiet to the human ear, each trying to interpret who would do such a thing. There was one name at the top of their list: Victoria, the mate of the dead James who had attacked Bella. She was a feral vampire and just wild enough to seek revenge on the coven; but why with this stranger?

"Who, Alice, who's going to change him?" Carlisle asked.

"Laurent – it's Laurent," she said finally. She relaxed momentarily before tensing her shoulders, her eyes going wide once more. At the same time, both Alice and Edward gasped. Jasper looked toward his brother with a frown before turning back to his mate. In the millisecond that he had turned away, Alice had turned her eyes toward him; they were filled with horror. "J-Jasper?" she whispered as her brows creased in sorrow.

"What is it, darlin'?" he asked, his frown still in place.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, tears of venom filming over her eyes. "I should have seen…"

"What? Seen _what_, Alice?" he asked harshly, suddenly very worried. He grabbed her by the shoulders, his gold eyes searching hers, both equally distressed. "What did you see?"

"He – you were meant for him," she whimpered out. "All those visions – of us, I thought they were _us_ – it was you, the two of you." She patted one small hand to her spiky hair. "I saw him and we look _so_ similar, Jasper, I-I thought _he_ was _me_," she finished, her voice almost unintelligible even to enhanced senses. Jasper stood frozen in place, face blank with shock.

"No, I love _you_, Alice," he growled out. She shook her head.

"But you're _meant_ for him, Jazzy; I just wish I would have seen it sooner. I'm so – "

"Don't say it!" he shouted. "Just – don't, Alice."

Carlisle tapped lightly on the wall with his fingers. His children looked toward him, two of them in agony. "We must find Harry quickly, you need to lead the way," he glanced quickly at Edward, who sped to the door to find Emmett and Rosalie and start them in the right direction. The doctor turned to the last two. "Jasper, Alice, if you need to –"

"I'm coming," the southerner cut him off, following after his bronze haired brother.

"Alice?" Carlisle prompted gently. Her only response was a soft nod and they walked out the door.

* * *

**A/N:** Another short-ish chapter, I admit, but I'm hoping that it cleared up the Jasper/Alice issue somewhat. They all have a _long_ way to go, but they'll get there eventually, I assure you. Thank you all so much for the reviews, the alerts, and the faves! I've gotten at least fifty FFN notices since I posted yesterday and it gives me the warm fuzzies. Hope you like the chapter.


	6. Juxtapose then Justify

_[Dumbledore to Harry]_

"_Your mother's sacrifice made the bond of blood the strongest shield I could give you."_

– Page 836, _OotP_

* * *

**Never After  
Chapter Six – Juxtapose then Justify**

It had been a millennium since he had closed his eyes on the face of a predator. Decades and centuries and eras had passed since the heat claimed his body, ravaging it and pulling at his very soul to scream _Save me!_ Eternity had come and gone in the time that it took for him to recover enough to realize that he was no longer on the ground, the flesh of the earth no longer hugging his form.

In his third year at Hogwarts, he had learned more about dark creatures than the rest of his education combined. He learned of the werewolf, the shape shifter, the vampire. He knew just what to expect of each of these things. And so he knew that if death did not visit his doorstep again then he was doomed to immortality.

The very moment his coherency returned to him, he tried to cry.

The tears didn't come, though, just a coat of something acidic and stinging layering his eyes. He didn't want to 'waken,' didn't want to face the reality that had been chosen for him, but his choices were limited: lie forever frozen on whatever surface he had been placed, or face the next obstacle that life through at him.

He opened his eyes and his world went red.

He had been ready to throw out all of his Gryffindor courage to face this new task on his shoulders – being a vampire, being a creature than many feared and many more hated – but when he opened his eyes, that was all gone. He was again suffering through heat. It was different, though, he knew, concentrated in his throat, his nose, his mouth. He was – he was _thirsty_. The same acidic, sweet liquid filled his mouth and scorched him as he swallowed it down. His once emerald eyes caught the faint brush of wind through the air and he sprung, panicking; it felt like a monsoon's gust. He leapt into the air easily, ready to escape – until he breathed. Then, he was prepared to track and hunt and _kill_. He paid no attention to the explosive noise of voices around him as he smelt that delicious scent again.

_Freesia_, his mind purred at him as his new eyes took in the profiles of six figures that littered the room. He glanced about them quickly, taking in how the fluorescent lighting shimmered off of their skin like a rainbow, each field of light distinct and glorious as it radiated; new colours encompassed him, dragging him and distracting him. He breathed in again, unnecessary and habitual, to taste the scent – and he was gone. He dashed away from the group, out the half-closed window, breaking it, faster than the others. He paid no mind to the glass that littered his dark hair, his mind frenzied. He couldn't think properly, he just needed to find the source of that smell and, and –

He was tackled from behind, the sound a screeching bang like thick pieces of heavy rock colliding into each other, neither yielding to rubble. He leapt to a crouch, legs bent at the knee and hands balled into fists, his torso hunched over and head up. He growled, the sound resonating deep within his chest, tapering off to a hiss of wrathful hunger. Barely noticing that he knew who had charged him – the blond from his blurry memory of the day before, Jasper – he pounced with his heels pushing into the ground, attacking head on into the red fog his mind created to state his hunger.

Somehow Jasper had side-stepped him and pushed him to the musky, green earth below. Harry struggled, thrashing about, trying to dislodge the powerful arms that held him down. As he breathed in the dirt and waxy grass, he calmed somewhat, but the red remained. He growled desperately, the noise going higher pitch towards the end, whining.

"No," he gasped, "no, please, I _need_ it."

"Restrain yourself," the other vampire hissed through clenched teeth, hands steady. "Emmett," he called over the dark head of the Boy-Who-Lived. Soon, another set of hands gripped him and he was lifted off the ground, feet barely grazing the surface. Frustrated, anxious, he made an effort to dislodge himself. A wave of resignation clenched at him when he was held tightly, urging him to still. The new born lifted his head from its dejected position to look up. The rest of the group – which Harry faintly recognized was probably the coven – was there. His eyes travelled along the group, picking out the two oldest, a blond and burnt honey haired couple standing close to one another. Then there was a statuesque female, tall and proud and stone still next to a small black haired girl. He hissed and thrashed, again trying to loosen their grip.

"What, no Laurent?" he hissed, noting the missing vampire who had cursed him with this existence. If there was one thing, one absolute need above even the thirst that ravaged his throat and mind, it would be Laurent and to deal with him in a way that Harry thought he should be scared of, but wasn't. He watched as the blond man took a step forward, instinctively cringing back as he recognized the authority that the man walked with, even at human pace.

"Laurent," the man said softly, but what sounded almost booming to Harry's newly adjusted senses. "He is not one of us. He met us last year and was supposed to be in Denali, Alaska, with another group of vampires –"

"Oh, they go around changing people into monsters, too?" the sable haired teen bit out, still resisting the hold that he was in with ferocity. The grip on his left, from Jasper's hands, tightened.

"We do not prey on humans –"

"Then what _is_ that delicious smell?" he asked breathing deeply through his nose, inhaling the faint scent of human that lingered even in the yard. Unmistakably, the best thing he had ever smelt; he believed so, at least, being unable to remember certain things from his fuzzy human days. Recognizing the loss of information from his life – from what _was_ his life, it saddened him. Again, he wanted to cry.

"That is a human, I will admit," Carlisle went on. "But she is family; my eldest's mate. She spends a lot of time in our home." Harry couldn't wrap his head around that thought.

"Mate?" he whispered, mostly to himself, disbelief coloring his tone.

"Yes, each vampire has a mate – a destined bond of love. Bella just happened to be human when she and Edward found each other. Esme and I," he gestured to the honey haired woman behind him, "are mates, as well as Emmett and Rosalie." He paused to share a look between the dark haired girl and Jasper. Harry felt a faint shudder go through the blond and the grip increased again; the other vampire looked as if she were suppressing tearless sobs. Something clicked in Harry's head, one of the many thoughts that were happening at the same time.

"And the two of you?" he asked, feeling as if he should be confident but something nagged at him.

"No," Jasper growled out, rough in a way velvet shouldn't be. Intense black eyes glared at Harry, looking at him for the first time that Harry could remember in this new life. Their eyes met, black and what used to be emerald green. The connection sizzled, zoning out the others and leaving the two vampires to still themselves and stare. They remained that way until Jasper's hand slipped and they're marble skins touched.

"Whoa," Harry gasped, turning fully to the blond, his other arm sliding from Emmett's grasp so he could turn fully to the other. They stayed that way for long moments, several seconds passing them buy. Jasper's hand was splayed on the equally cool surface of the patch of skin above the teen savior's elbow, the pads of his fingers lightly brushing more of the skin. Harry believed that he almost felt his heart beat.

A decade, a day, a second later the spell was broken, whatever connection they had was lost as the new born breathed in again, catching the smell of freesia on the tip of his tongue. His eyelids lowered involuntarily before widening and his vision clouding over in blood lust. He dashed away, no longer in control, his body responding to its needs and the deep desire to feed on the blood of that girl – Bella.

"No!" he heard behind him and the light trampling of feet followed.

"Jasper, do something! Calm him!"

"I-I can't," a whisper. "I can't."

* * *

**A/N: **80 reviews, 31 C2s, 134 faves, and 312 alerts! Seriously, you guys make me so ridiculously happy it's not even funny... okay, maybe a little funny. ;) But anyhow, I have a poll up on my profile: to have vamp/wiz powers or not to have vamp/wiz powers? You're input might just topple the decision; if you have any ideas on what Harry's vamp power might be, please PM me! I'd like to get some hard-copy input, you know? I don't just write this story for me, but you guys too, so it's important that we're _all_ happy with how this turns out. I've had a few questions about how they'll all interact with each other -- what will Bella/Eddie be doing, who's Alice giong to lurve for the rests of foreva -- you know, typical stuff. BUT I cannot answer all these questions yet. This is just as much a learning experience for me as it is for you. I just know thirty minutes ahead of time how the chapter's going to turn out, capice?

So. Read. Review. Flame. As long as that pretty blue number at the top keeps increasing I'm happy. Oh, and if you are logged in when you review, I'll be more than happy to answer any and all comments. Thanks!


	7. Kindness in Killing

_[Dumbledore to Harry]_

"_He disappeared after leaving the school ... traveled far and wide ... sank so deeply into the Dark Arts, consorted with the very worst of our kind, underwent so many dangerous, magical transformations, that when he resurfaced as Lord Voldemort, he was barely recognizable.__"_

– Page 329, _CoS_

* * *

**Never After  
Chapter Seven – Kindness in Killing**

He was off before he even really knew what was happening. He couldn't see clearly – couldn't think with any sort of coherency. He just ran. The red haze that burned down his throat was all consuming and Harry really couldn't bring himself the care. The smell, _that smell_, was so tantalizing and enchanting; the freesia stung him and no coercion was needed for him to be enticed. Whoever that Bella Swan was, her blood would be his.

In coming upon the house his eyes were locked on the upper window, where the scent was strongest, almost hypnotic. He heard a low growl before another vampire body smashed into him, creating that same marble-on-marble sound. He hissed out and pushed away roughly, gracefully landing on his feet.

"That blood is _mine_," he hissed, slipping into parseltongue with the sheer force of possession he felt. The bronze one – Edward – paused for a millisecond before throwing himself at Harry. The teen tried to sidestep, but the other man was faster and pinned him to the ground. What Edward did not count on, though, was the wizard using the new found strength of his transformation to his advantage. Harry threw his opponent off before dashing to the large tree that neared the window he desired and jumped onto a high limb. He let a satisfactory smile as he broke through the window and into the room.

The scent was strong there, stronger than he could have ever imagined. Venom pooled in his mouth, trailing down his throat and leaving a scorching path. He looked around quickly, searching out the girl. A low growl escaped his throat in bitter frustration as he found no one in the room. Dashing out to the hallway, tearing the door off its hinges in his haste, he found a bathroom – second strongest scent, no girl. But he caught another scent, not as strong as the first, and made his way down the stairs.

"No!" he roared, furious.

Two had gotten away from him now, and he was _so hungry_. He huffed, breathing in the smells of the room: the two deliciously molten scents were the foremost, followed by the pulled cotton of the worn sofa, and lastly the half-cooked food in the kitchen that made him cringe. But there, amongst the rank that his sensitive nose picked up, was the feint trace of another scent. It was a something he'd smelled all his life, and with a wicked grin, he knew he found the perfect first body for this new life.

"You don't want to do this," a voice came from behind him, which his new memory picked up quickly as Edward's.

"You're fast," he commented as the vibrant red faded to wine that clouded his vision at the edges.

"I read your mind," the other vampire went on. "You don't want to do this –"

"The hell I don't!" Harry spun, face pulled in a snarl. "I'm so tired of doing what's right – what's expected. And," he breathed, "it smells to _good_."

"That is my mate you are speaking of," Edward said through clenched teeth, obviously straining to control himself while this new threat invaded.

"Well your mate is appetizing," Harry purred out.

"You don't want to do this," Edward reiterated. "You fought for the World," Harry couldn't help the fractional widening of his eyes, "you are no killer, Harry James Potter."

A bird fluttered by; a heart beat passed, then two as Harry set his eyes on the avian that perched outside the window. He clenched his teeth tightly, venom pooling again in his mouth. _Just once, just once, I've got to, just this once_, he thought.

"Once what?" Edward asked, head tilted and curiosity piqued.

Their eyes locked for a second, topaz clashing with black, before the chase began again. Out the window and through the woods, Harry kept close to the road to tell where he was headed, but it was pointless. He'd been walking to and from the house since he came to America, he knew just where it was and knew just who he was looking for. As he neared the house, he could hear Edward behind him and he wanted no distractions for this. Darting off farther into the woods, he shifted his route toward the exit road, the one that passed the local Indian reservation. He'd lure him to the blank shift between Port Angeles and ditch him along the way. Harry could only hope that he kept his thoughts blurred long enough to catch the telepath off guard.

_At least Snape was good for something_, was one of his many thoughts, the others being the plan, this new life, and the most obvious – the bloodlust.

Harry noticed the second that something was off. Like some invisible line, his pursuer stopped and paced like a caged lion. Without pausing, the teen kept on; he took a mile loop before turning, perhaps too eager to get to his prey. His ears kept perched, waiting for another to follow him – for the bronze one, the blond one, or Jasper, who affected him the most.

He wasn't sure what had happened before the scent pulled him to that house; didn't know why the black gaze burnt between them like a tangible force. A shiver passed through him that had nothing to do with the cold (which felt more like a cool room than anything to his new senses). Those eyes, the musky, honey scent from the other vampire, it urged him. The problem was that he didn't know why he had that compulsion, or what he should do.

The stray thoughts of the empathic vampire were cut short, though, as his attention focused outward when he reached his destination. He slowed to human pace, barely pausing to open the door with an almost nonexistent squeak, and entered the Dursley residence.

"Finally, you ungrateful, stupid boy!" Petunia called from the kitchen as she barely glanced up to verify it was him. "Three days! You had work – the chores piled…up…" she trailed off as she took in his new form. The too pale alabaster skin, angled features, the red-black eyes that glinted almost playfully as they glared.

"Oh, has it really been that long? Seems like longer, Aunt," he purred, taking slow steps forward, drawing his finger tips across the mantle he'd clean only a few days ago, apparently. "Tell me, when does Diddy Duddy-kins get home?"

"I'm not telling you anything, you freak!" she denied, her voice taking on a whining, frightened tone that was reminiscent of a horse. He could tell from the quickening of her pulse and the tense taste her scent had taken that she was terrified and that her son would be home soon. Sure enough, moments later a truck pulled up and let out someone before driving away once more. Harry smirked.

"Mum! When's dinner, yeah?" Dudley called out while stomping his way through the front room. The whale of a teenager stopped as soon as he spotted his cousin. A sneer was immediately placed on his fat, pink face. "What're you doing here, freak? Didn't you _die_ yet?" Dudley said with a guffaw.

"Oh, Big D, hasn't anyone ever told you that your face will freeze that way?" Harry smirked.

"Wha -- ?"

The question was cut off as the shorter cousin pounced on his prey, sinking his razor sharp teeth into the juicy neck without a second thought. Dudley's screams were weak and agony filled as Harry drank deeply, closing his eyes in rapture. It wasn't as tantalizing as the other blood he'd smelt, but it was _so good_.

"Not my baby! Get off him, you disgusting, worthless, no good –" Aunt Petunia started, rushing over to try and pull her nephew off her Duddy-poo. With a growl of rage at being interrupted, Harry shoved her back with some force, knocking her against the edge of the mantle. He heard a satisfying snap before turning back to his meal. _Oh no,_ he thought with a little despair, _two seconds and the blood's already cooling_. With a final lick against the wounds, Harry let the dead body of his cousin drop. He glanced at his aunt, but it was too late for him to feed on her, the snap had been attributed to her neck and her scent was rotting with her body now.

"Gross," he said, scrunching his nose at the smell.

"Don't move, Potter," a silky voice demanded from the doorway.

Harry turned to look at the intruder and threw his head back to laugh.

* * *

**A/N:** You all can thank the Dursley killings on _Serpent Magick. _My last covo with her just sort of sparked it; c'mon, you didn't seriously think I'd kill off Bella, did you?... _did_ you? Anyway... I just want to say THANKYOU again to everyone -- reviewers, alerters, and favers alike. Seriously, every time I checked my email I had at least five of those little FFN messages waiting for more. I swear I scared my cat by squeeing so much. SO. Lots of Love for you all, and I hope you enjoy!


	8. Meddling with the Ministry

_[Severus Snape]_

"_What would your head have been doing in Hogsmeade, Potter? Your head is not allowed in Hogsmeade. No part of your body has permission to be in Hogsmeade."_

- Page ?, _Book_

**Chapter Eight – Meddling with the Ministry**

"What do you mean he wasn't there?"

"Exactly what I said – _he wasn't there_."

A deep sigh calmed the room instantaneously, silencing the two arguing persons. Albus Dumbledore held his fingers steeple-style before him, mouth drawn into a frown and forehead wrinkling. His entire body was set in an ornate chair at the head of the table and he portrayed the look of a man just his age. Another deep sigh escaped his long, crooked nose and his eyes were a dreary, watered blue.

The people who sat in the kitchen of Number 12 Grimmauld Place looked between each other, each as uncertain as the next to why their fearless leader was looking his age. Surely _he_ knew where the Potter boy was? Surely the Great Albus Dumbledore couldn't be as stumped as the rest of them? Panic started to hint at the edge of the group's consciousness. How could they lose their most valued weapon? And only a few days out from school, no less.

"Severus," the wizened man started, eyes looking up into the Potion's Master's face. "I need you to sort this out. It is imperative that Harry is brought back to us, soon."

The man in question bit back the natural reaction to sneer at the direct command and merely pinched his lips together. "Yes, Headmaster."

"Good, good," the older man muttered before looking to the others. "Moody, Shaklebolt, it would be best if this were to not leak to the Ministry," he gave them a look. The two men nodded in understanding. "Molly," he said calmly to the flustered and red faced woman who had been arguing with Severus. "We must remain calm in this time of confusion; keep your children close and protect them."

"Yes, Albus," she nodded worriedly and wrung her hands. "I just – I…"

"What is it, Molly?" He asked kindly as the others went their separate ways, readying themselves for the assignments given.

"Oh, Albus," she breathed, slouching her plump form in her chair. "When I went to pick Ron and Ginny up from the train I was just so worried about them! But I – I think I gave Harry the wrong impression, that I might've caused all this!" She gasped then held up an edge of the tablecloth to her face, wiping away the tears. "I didn't think anything of it at the time, but Ron and Hermione got off the train at a different time than Harry, he was first, and I was just so worried about my Ronald, I ignored him!" she blubbered.

"Molly, dear, it's not your fault," soothed Mr. Weasley.

"Yes, Molly, just a misunderstanding," added Dumbledore. "I'm sure he thought nothing of it."

"Well, that's what I thought at first, too. But then once we got the children home, Ron started in on about how Harry was a nuisance, a menace; he was saying awful things. I had to wash his mouth with some Sorceress Suze's Soap! And then when Ginny reminded him that Harry was his best friend he said, 'That evil snake is no friend of mine! He nearly got Hermione and me killed!'" she gasped, more fat tears rolling down her reddening cheeks.

"Oh, dear," Albus said, frown once more playing up the wrinkles on his face. He looked into the faces of the Weasley parents, sadness creeping up on him.

They needed Harry back, he knew, more than ever before. With Voldemort rising to power they needed the boy back to stop it. _Neither shall live while the other survives_, he thought. Truly he did not wish to put the child back into danger, especially after having seen so much despair and pain in his life. But, looking into those tear stained faces of Arthur and Molly, he knew that if they didn't get Harry back and fighting that more than just a single orphan would be lost to the hell of war. It had happened last time with Molly's brothers, families being torn apart by Voldemort and the coldness of death encroaching upon everyone's lives. Yes, as much as he didn't want to, Albus knew that sacrificing the one for the many was the only way to save their world.

He just wished it didn't have to be the boy he thought of as a grandson.

He gave an aggravated growl of disappointment when the file came up empty once more. How hard could it really be to find one boy? While he was just one measly little child in the sea of thousands of wizards and witches, he was also the Boy Who Lived – close tabs should have been kept. Severus tossed the file back onto the Ministry provided desk and rubbed his temples with pale, tapered fingers.

The Potions Master had arrived at the Department of Records and Taxes hours before, just after leaving the Order of the Phoenix meeting. He had hoped for a quick solution to their problem, but as he perused the Ministry files he barely found anything of interest. In a fit of almost desperation, he stealthily broke into the Sealed Files room where anything of importance to the Ministry was kept under lock and key. Of course, it didn't take him long to find one Potter, Harry J.'s file, but what was in it was a shock.

Or rather, what _wasn't_ in it.

The manila envelope had only one sheaf of paper as its contents, declaring Potter's birthday, current age, and defeat of the Dark Lord. It only filled a half of the page – and to Severus's indignation, hadn't been updated since Harry had been given to the Dursley's. The current age listed was a year and three months old. Severus had never before wanted to curse the Ministry officials in charge so badly. In fact, going up to Fudge's office and cursing him into the next century was a tempting option, but Severus stopped himself.

It wouldn't do to curse the bumbling idiot so soon into the search. True, it would be a refreshing change of pace to destroy the man for his idiocy, but then Dumbledore would probably have a conniption and killing off the leader of the Light wasn't going to help anyone.

Severus glared down at the useless file, deciding whether to burn it or not. With a deep sigh, he took out a quill and jotted down what he knew of Potter's life (mostly about his dunderheaded attempts to 'rescue' something or another) before returning the file to its place among the rows of matching folders. With one last look, he disappeared through the doors and right back out of the Ministry walls.

Pausing for a moment, he glanced at the deserted alley-way outside of the Ministry. He thought of where to search next when a sneer appeared on his face, his nostrils flaring.

"I hate muggles," he said with some venom to the emptiness around him. With a _crack!_ he was gone.


	9. Near to Not

Snape's eyes were boring into Harry's. It was exactly like trying to stare down a hippogriff. Harry tried hard not to blink

- Chapter 14, _PoA_

**Never After  
Chapter Nine – Near to Not**

Snape arrived at his destination with a sharp crack. He looked up at the muggle skyscraper with disgust; while he hadn't learnt much from Potter's file, he had gleaned the employment of the muggle uncle, a drill company named Grunnings. Snape stood in the alley behind the building only a moment more to transfigure his stern black robes into something called a muggle suit. The thing itself wasn't terribly uncomfortable, but he wanted to change back into his robes as quickly as possible.

Stepping into the building, scowl set firmly in place, he commanded the full attention of the secretary at the front desk.

Kitty Monroe had been working at Grunnings for three years without as much as a hiccup of complaint. Small, mousy haired, and shy, she was easily disregarded by the staff as invisible. Invisible she may have been, but deaf she wasn't. Hearing the gossip of her fellows – and sometimes, her bosses – gave her a bit of amusement to go on and made her day bearable.

So when a finely dressed, scowling man entered the office, her attention was rapt. Having always steered clear of pretty boy types, Kitty was drawn to the non-classical way the stranger's face was shaped, his elegant dominance as he walked. And then, he spoke.

"I'm looking for the records department," he said to her coldly. Kitty released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

"I-I'm sorry, sir, but those records are for management use only," she finally said with a blush staining her cheeks. The man glared, clearly irritated. His face then smoothed out a small smirk quirked his thin lips.

"Well then," he purred as he noticed the blush on her cheeks. "Perhaps you can help me."

"I'll try, sir," she replied, blood still rushing to her face.

"I'm looking for a Vernon Dursley," he said, recalling the name on the file. The girl's face returned to its normal pallor as she blinked at him.

"Vernon Dursley?" she asked, curious. Kitty had the occasion of meeting the whale-like man a few times and was not impressed. He flaunted, flirted, and flattered his way through work. Then, a few years ago, he'd nearly lost his job because of something her employers called 'The Pudding Incident.' Kitty had a hard time connecting this devilish stranger with Dursley in any way.

"Yes, Vernon Dursley," the man reiterated through clenched teeth. It was clear to her that he was not a man who liked to be kept waiting.

"He, well," she paused, uncertain. "He doesn't work here anymore, sir."

"What?"

"He got relocated to America, he doesn't work at the main office anymore," she said, remembering his boasting a few weeks back. "Word says that he wasn't doing his job quite right; this is his last chance. The man upstairs wanted him out of the way."

The stranger's face was now set in a hard line as he stared at her. He evidently knew none of that. "Where?" he asked, finally, hands closed tightly.

"I'm not sure if I can…"

"I am a friend of his wife's," he cut her off. "I've been out of the country a number of years and merely want to get back into contact with them," he said, tone suave. He leant forward across the counter separating them. "Surely, you understand?"

Kitty nodded faintly, her head feeling light.

"Where in America?" he purred.

"Oh, um," she cleared her throat before looking around. "A place called Forks – I remember, he was going on and on about the odd name. It's on the Pacific Coast somewhere," she finished, face once more beet red at the proximity.

"Thank you for your services, Madam," the dark main said before lifting her hand to his lips and kissing it. He walked out without another word, leaving Kitty to replay their conversation over for the rest of the day.

As he walked back to the alley, Severus couldn't help but smirk. "Muggles."

After finding the name and general location of where the Dursleys had moved to, it wasn't a hard job to place them. Forks, Washington; Severus had to sneer at the page he held in his hands. He had gone back to the Ministry in search of a map to guide him to the new location and found that there was a pack of shape-shifters registered in the area. He bit back a growl; Potter always seemed to attract trouble.

Severus had already informed the Headmaster of Potter's where-a-bouts and his next assignment was to retrieve the boy. Focusing on the coordinates, Severus apparated with another sharp crack. There was a longer than usual period in which he felt he was being strangled, squeezed, and pulled at the same time; apparition was a nasty business. When he arrived at the place, his head was dizzy and his limbs almost numb; they weren't unusual side-effects of long-journey apparition, but they most certainly weren't pleasant, either. Snape leaned up against a large tree to get his bearings back and looked around.

He was supposed to appear in a thin set of woods just outside of city limits, but instead found himself in the backyard of a large, elegant house. There were windows along most of the walls and one of them was open to a bedroom on the second floor of the building. Black eyes darted around to check the vicinity for anyone who'd seen him – he'd hate to have to go through the trouble of obliviating them – and found a single set of topaz eyes locked onto his figure. He scanned the being and instantly recognized it as a vampire by the pale skin, perfect features, and dark bruises under the eyes. What concerned him were the eyes; he'd never seen a set that color before.

As fast as he could, he drew his wand, prepared to attack the vampire across from him, but paused. The creature just kept looking at him, though his curious eyes were drawn to the wand in Severus's hand and his brows were furrowed at it. Instead of attacking, Snape held tense under the scrutiny before speaking.

"Who are you?" He asked the being. Amber eyes looked up at him, hard.

"I could ask you the same," he spoke; voice a deep, musical note, "seeing as you're on my back lawn."

"You're a vampire," Snape hissed, dark eyes glaring. The creature seemed oddly surprised by that.

"You know?" he asked, head tilting and eyes once more flashing to Snape's wand. Suddenly, his eyes grew wide and his mouth slacked slightly. "Wizard?" he asked in an almost faint voice.

"No, I'm a veela," Snape replied snidely, still scanning the blonde. "You aren't registered in this area," he accused.

"Registered?" the vampire asked, confused. He took a slow step forward and Severus tightened his already tense muscles in preparation of attack. It would be near useless, he knew, but there was no stopping his instincts.

"At the Ministry of Magic in England, you and I suspect your coven," the dark man glanced up at the house, too large for a single being.

"I had not realized that wizards had a – a government." The blonde tilted his head in thought before his eyes focused back on Snape. "Who are you?"

Snape grit his teeth before answering; he did not like magical creatures as it was, but the ones that could kill him he absolutely detested. On the other hand, the vampire had probably come into contact with Potter and could help. Swallowing his pride, Snape tried to answer as equally as possible. "I am Professor Severus Snape of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I've come from England in search of a missing student: a Harry Potter." The vampire's eyes darkened into a predatory scowl and his lips turned into an angry purse. Snape was torn between amusement and terror at the sight of such a dangerous creature in full attack mode. "You know him, I suppose?"

The vampire looked up and his eyes weren't merely that of an enraged animal. The gold was dark and the anger was tinted with sadness; it was curious to Severus, but he decided not to question on that. He would, however, question something else.

"Your eyes, why are they not red?" the thought was still nagging him as he looked into the vampire's face.

"Because we do not drink humans," a voice said from behind him. Snape snapped his head around to find another blonde vampire, though older than the first. This one's face was more open and had a kinder touch to it; Severus was reminded of Lupin and wasn't sure whether to be thankful for a gentler vampire or annoyed at the similarities. The man stepped forward a few paces and extended a hand. "I am Carlisle Cullen and you've been speaking to my son, Jasper."

"Severus Snape," he nodded, shaking the man's cold, hard hand; Snape suppressed a shudder. "I am looking for Harry Potter."

"Yes," Carlisle sighed, "so I'd heard. Unfortunately, so are we, and not having much luck catching him." Severus narrowed his eyes.

"What happened?" he demanded; several more vampires appeared from the trees and Snape was almost caught off guard by the short, dark haired one whom could pass for Potter's twin.

"We are terribly sorry," the man said, sounding sincere and apologetic. "We had meant to get there sooner –"

"What. Happened?" Snape nearly growled out. If anything had happened to the boy, the Wizarding World would have next to no chance at surviving the second war Voldemort was imposing.

"It was a rogue vampire; Harry was caught in the middle of the woods with him and we got there too late." Snape tried to hold back the hitch of breath and keep the block of ice from his stomach, but there was no use.

"He's dead?"

"More or less," Carlisle said. "He was Changed. We stopped Laurent in time to save Harry, but it was no use; there was too much venom in his veins to suck out." Severus felt no relief at these words; being turned into a magical creature was just as bad as declaring Potter dead – or worse, as though he were running for title of the next Dark Lord. Voldemort may be defeated, but the Wizarding World would never recognize Potter as an equal again.

"You," Snape cleared his throat, "you said you could not find him?"

"No, we can't. He tried to attack my other son's – Edward's – human mate, Bella. We halted him and gave chase but we lost him at the Quiliute reservation, where we are restricted."

"The wolf shape-shifter clan," Snape nodded. There was a treaty on register, but the Ministry had this coven as moved on since the early twentieth century. Clearly, they were wrong. The vampires seemed surprised, but the wizard ignored it. "Where are his relatives?"

"The aunt and cousin are at the house that they leased, the uncle is away on work in Seattle," Carlisle supplied. Snape nodded again.

"I need to get there and warn them," he held a hand up at the protesting looks on the creatures' faces. "They are already aware of the boys status as a wizard so there is no breach to the Volturi laws that you follow." They all seemed astounded at his knowledge and the fact that Potter was a wizard; Snape expected that after the initial reaction from the other blonde, Jasper. Eventually, Carlisle nodded.

"I'll run you to them," he said. "Just hop on my back." Snape accepted with a grimace and they headed to the Dursley residence.


	10. Listening to Liaison

_"__Well, well, well...how curious...how very curious...__"_

- Page 65, _PS_

**Never After  
Chapter Ten – Listening to Liaisons**

"You really think you can still tell me what to do, Snape?" Harry questioned, his form relaxed, slumped almost, and head tilted back over his small shoulder, bright red eyes flashing. His face was flush from the recent feed, his mind clearer with the blood fog not gone but dulled. Pink, angular lips were quirked slightly in a smirk over pearly, venom soaked teeth, sharp as razors.

"You forget, Potter, that I am the one with the wand, here," the dark wizard replied, voice low.

"Mmm," Harry agreed lightly. "Yes, but only if you can catch me."

In a flash, he was gone. Just after the move, missing the teen's body by a mere few milliseconds, the sleek, ebony wand in Snape's hand flicked. The TV stand burst into shards before engulfing in flame. The eerie cackling laugh once again came unnaturally from Harry's mouth. Snape repressed the urge to shiver. Between the laugh, the bloody eyes, and the new beautiful, angular form he could be a twin for a young Voldemort and it almost terrified the Potion's Master. _Almost, not quite_, Snape thought bitterly. It was hard _not_ to know every detail of the man who makes you call him Master.

The fury that Voldemort brought to Snape gave him enough edge to anticipate the new born vampire's next move. Another harsh whip of the ebony wand sent Harry spiraling against the far wall, crumpling the structure; Harry now lay frozen, scratchless, and covered in congealing blood. Snape let out a self-satisfied smirk, crouching down and resting the tip of his wand on Harry's forehead.

"Not quite so arrogant now, are you, Potter?"

The truth was Snape still had a grudge against the youngest, still living, Potter. He was struggling to comprehend the difference between the neglectful, empty house on Privet Drive to the defiant, callous creature in front of him. The contrast was startling, but if Snape knew one thing it was how quickly a person could change, how quickly the mind could snap in the face of death. Potter had faced it so many times, though, it was curious that he would react in this vicious way. And if Snape knew one thing, it was how to quell his curiosity.

He flicked his wrist.

"Why, Potter?" he asked, still kneeling over the prone figure.

"Why _what_, Snape?" Harry asked back having regained the use of his facial muscles.

"Why are you acting like this?" the dark wizard hissed. "For everything you've done in your life – throw it away _now_?"

"Life, ha! This is no life, you great ugly bastard," Harry growled before pursing his lips. "I worked so hard for everything, every_one_ else, and what happens? Fate turns into a cruel mistress and damns me to _this_. A monster not fit for anything but bloodthirsty lust," he lowered his eyes, expression downcast and hard with anger.

"Coward," Snape whispered lowly.

"What did you just call me?" Harry spat, furious.

"Coward," the Potion's Master repeated. "You are a coward, Harry Potter. You believe that you are the first for this to happen to? That you are the only one to hate what you've become? Many see themselves as monsters without ever having creature blood pass near their veins, let alone run through them." He paused to breathe deeply and sooth the righteous anger he felt. It was no small feat for the normally ill-tempered man. "It's a matter of perspective and I expect you to _deal with it_."

A long moment passed between the two, red and black eyes meeting with a new sort of fizz between them. Harry looked away first, screwing his eyes shut and knitting his brows. He tried to shake his head, but it was still immobile.

"I – I can't," he sighed, looking up once more. "It's like being under the Imperius only so much worse; I can't fight it, the burn, and a part of me doesn't want to try. If I had the chance, if I weren't frozen right now, I'm sure you'd be dead. Another to add to the deaths I've caused." He cut his eyes off to the side. "I pictured springing up, wrenching your neck to the side, and biting down hard. Three seconds and you'd be dead and I'd be gone, out to look for another."

Snape's heartbeat raced just a bit faster, belaying the stoicism his face portrayed. It was frightening how easily Potter had described feeding, how accurate and quick the dark wizard's death could be. Harry had a small, sad smirk on his face as he listened to the fluttering muscle. It slowed gradually and Snape took a breath to speak.

"There are ways," he began, "other than what you know. The Cullens, I've spoken to them briefly about how this," he gestured to Harry's new form, "came to be, they are not like the normal vampires wizards have encountered."

"Their eyes."

"Yes, the color of their iris' belays the difference between what they've deemed 'human-drinkers' and 'animal-drinkers.' I think the change has something to do with the molecular difference within the fauna blood itself."

"You mean that they don't -?"

"Yes, they are strictly 'vegetarian,'" Snape said, sneering slightly at the phrase. Harry's eyes widened fractionally, darting slightly at the implications.

"They said – but I thought they were lying," he muttered to himself. "I was there, and then gone, there was this smell; a beautiful freesia," his eyes half-closed as venom pooled in his mouth. "Bella, Bella, the girl's name was Bella," he repeated, cementing in his mind that she was human and it was _bad_ to hurt her, made possible only by the fact that he was away from the scent, leaving it only in his memory. Snape's own smell was different than Bella's or even the Dursleys – and Harry had no inclination to indulge in the blood. "I wanted her, but they said she was Edward's… mate," he tested the word on his tongue.

"Yes, they said the same to me," Snape agreed. He looked around the living room that they were still in, by-passing the bodies without a noticeable change in demeanor. "We need to move and this has to be reported."

Harry was sure his heart would have skipped if it still beat.

"What will happen to me?" he asked, nervous; it was strange, though, his usual physical responses weren't there: no sweaty palms or shaky hands, only the faint thrumming of the emotion under his skin. Snape looked down at him for a moment, eyes calculating and losing the edge of hate they'd always had when directed at him. They weren't soft, kind, or warm by any means, but it was a vast improvement and Harry wasn't sure what Snape saw that changed his thoughts. _I'm a monster, I deserve the hate and revulsion_, he thought bitterly.

"I will need to get you out of here, far from humans. The Ministry of America knows that newborns without a Sire's direction tend to go off easily; you actually did quite well," Snape smirked. "Most kill at least six or seven, the first they come in contact with. You, on the other hand, searched out the one with the most tempting smell – and when you couldn't find her, he aimed for _them_," he spat, head gesturing to the mangled bodies of what used to be mother and son. Harry couldn't bring himself to care about their deaths; they had never been family to him, so he felt no mourning. Just the burning feeling in his stomach from taking a life – any life – ate at him. "It's interesting."

"What is?"

"The fact that you thought though who your victims would be," Snape commented. "Very interesting."


End file.
